Chapter 7
Francesca
Did he just say what I thought he said?
Stefan carried me through the huge doors into the enormous castle.
A gorgeous long staircase led up, up and up.
Almost further than I could see. Stefan set me down just as the driver walked in with our luggage.
He and Stefan spoke in Italian for a minute or two and then the driver nodded to me and left, closing the door behind him.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. “Or would you rather have a tour?”
I looked to the left and saw a formal sitting room. To the right, I spotted a large dining table with a billion chairs around it. And I couldn’t even see the whole thing.
“Umm,” I said, gazing at the staircase again. “Is this really—” my throat got dry, “yours?”
He stepped in front of me and put his hands on my hips. “Yes, Francesca. And now it's also yours.”
That made me giggle. Because it most certainly was not—mine. I didn't own a freaking castle. And I never, ever would. “Yeah, okay,” I said sarcastically.
He tilted his head slightly and kissed my lips.
“It's a lot to get used to. I understand.
Come, I'll find us something to eat.” He let go of my hips and grabbed my hand.
We walked toward the dining room, and I took in the stunning old woodwork everywhere I looked.
The dining room table looked old. Like old, old.
And the detailing on those chairs was—incredible.
My fingertips grazed over a chair as we walked by.
Through the dining room and around the corner was the kitchen.
My feet stopped.
Dead in their tracks.
“Whoa,” I said, physically unable to move or say anything else.
Stefan stepped in front of me and asked, “What's wrong?”
I moved around him and—stared.
At the ocean view in front of me.
Windows and windows and—windows. Of ocean.
I wasn't sure how long I stood there like that—in a trance-like state.
Just.
Staring.
At the beauty.
More beautiful than any picture anyone in the world could ever paint.
“Do you like your kitchen?” Stefan whispered into my ear. I hadn't even realized he was now behind me. His arms wrapped around tight, holding me to his body. Which was probably a good thing because right now, my legs felt a little weak.
I let out a small, forced laugh. “My—kitchen?” I shook my head and reluctantly turned my head and looked at him over my shoulder. “It's your kitchen, Stefan. And,” I turned my head back to the unbelievable view, “it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.”
He kissed my neck, and I shivered. “It's yours, Francesca.
You're my wife. Everything I have,” his tongue darted out and licked that one spot I loved so much, “is yours.” His arms tightened around me, and I leaned back into him.
At that moment—I almost believed him. Even though what he'd said was completely absurd.
“This house has been waiting a long time for someone like you. Just like I have.”
There were very few moments in life that I wished I could just stuff into a bottle and keep forever.
And funny enough—most of them were with Stefan.
This was definitely one of those bottle moments.
I would keep it with me along with the others.
Like seeing his handsome, desperate, pleading eyes look up at me in the ER all those months ago.
Or finding Stefan in the back seat of my crappy brown car after I'd cried the entire way home from the hospital—thinking I'd never see him again.
Or walking out onto that stage, knowing I was about to be—bought—by some disgusting old man. But instead—immediately seeing Stefan's eyes. And knowing—just knowing—he would save me.
And then when I walked out of Carlo and Giselle's house in a wedding dress, to see—Stefan's glistening eyes on me.
All of those moments I’d hold dear to my heart.
Forever.
Part of me wanted to argue with Stefan and tell him how ridiculous he was being. This kitchen didn't belong to me. And neither did Stefan.
I knew it.
He knew it.
But for this moment—
This wonderful, amazing moment in time—
Well, I selfishly wanted to keep this bottle moment for myself.
Forever.
“Go outside if you want. I'll make us something to eat.” He kissed my cheek and let me go.
All on their own, my feet carried me to the windows. I looked left—and then right—seeing nothing but water and sky.
I stood there completely unaware of anything going on around me. I heard Stefan in the kitchen behind me. And I smelled—food—of some kind cooking. But my attention was solely focused on the spectacular view in front of me.
I wasn't sure how much time had passed, but when I heard Stefan say, “Come outside,” I turned to see him a few yards away, pulling the glass wall—away. It folded in on itself like an accordion. “Or I'll bring the outside,” he walked directly in front of me, “in.”
The wall of windows had disappeared.
And left me standing on the patio. Stefan walked back into the kitchen but came back quickly with two plates in his hands. “Francesca,” he called as he strolled over to a large, square iron table. He set down the plates and walked back to the kitchen.
I blinked and shook my head slightly. This was too crazy. How in the world was I even here right now? This all seemed like a dream.
I wandered over to the table and sat down. The chairs matched the table, but there were soft, cheery yellow cushions on them.
The plate in front of me had five hot, steaming meatballs on it with grated cheese on top.
“Salad, if you want.” Stefan set a heaping bowl of greens beside my plate. The scent of lemon drifted up my nose. He dropped a bowl by his plate, too. And slid a plate of sliced bread and a small bowl of chopped tomatoes between us.
It finally occurred to me to ask, “Do you want help with anything? I'm sorry, I should have been in the kitchen with you instead of—” I waved my hand at the picturesque view, “acting like a stunned idiot.”
Stefan chuckled and stepped behind me. His hands landed on my shoulders, and he bent down.
“If I had needed help, I would have asked you.” He squeezed my shoulders.
“And the fact that you appreciate the view was not idiotic.” His lips touched my cheek.
“It was appreciated.” Then he let go of me and left again.
My eyes darted around the patio. It wound around the back of the house—or castle.
An infinity pool butted up against the edge of the patio.
I wanted to get up to see what was on the other side, but Stefan came back with a bottle of wine in an ice bucket and two glasses.
He dropped the bucket into a stand that was off to the side.
Then he handed me the wine glasses. “Take these for me, please.”
I grabbed the glasses and watched him move the ice bucket stand beside his chair. He slid the wine bottle out as the ice crashed back into the bucket.
Stefan pulled a corkscrew from his pocket and began opening the bottle. The sleeves of his button-down shirt were rolled up, and I found myself staring at his forearms. Who knew that forearms could be so attractive? My fingers itched to touch them.
The bottle opened with a pop, and I smiled up at him. He took one glass from me and poured—and handed it back. Then he took the other glass and poured until it was halfway full and stuck the bottle back into the bucket.
“To my beautiful wife.” He held out his glass. “And her first meal in our home.” He clinked his glass against mine. I bit my tongue, not wanting to ruin the moment. It still really confused me why he kept saying this house—or more like castle—was mine. It obviously wasn't.
We weren't even really married.
I'd have to bring it up later.
But for now, I didn't want to disturb the peace between us. And quite honestly—this view was otherworldly. Stefan could say anything he wanted as long as I could sit here and stare at the beautiful water.
I took a quick taste of the wine and—“Mm,” I said and drank some more. There was a distinct fruity taste. Berries of some kind? It was delicious.
“Do you like it?” Stefan asked as he sat down beside me. He took a long sip from his glass.
“I love it,” I told him truthfully and drank more.
Then I shifted in my seat and set the glass down.
The uncomfortable ache between my legs was getting a bit worse.
Maybe from all the sitting. “Where did you get it? I bet there are some great vineyards around here.” I ignored the pain and picked up my fork.
“Carlo has the family vineyard. I help when I can, but it's mostly his thing.”
I stabbed at my salad and stopped. “Carlo owns a vineyard?” I gazed over at him and was speechless. I mean—who the heck—owns a freaking vineyard?
“It's the family vineyard. But yes, essentially, it's his.”
I shifted again and brought the fork to my mouth.
Just then, Stefan abruptly got up from the table and walked away.
All right.
Whatever.
I dug into the salad and the rest of the food. Unsurprisingly, it was all perfectly tasty.
The lettuce was crisp. Not sad and wilty like the lettuce I served him at my apartment.
Gosh.
Yeah, I was embarrassed back then at the quality of food I'd given Stefan to eat. But now—eating this—knowing how rich this guy really was, I was mortified.
My thoughts were interrupted by four pill bottles deposited on the table beside me. “Take something. I can tell you're in pain.” Stefan sat back down and began eating.
I looked at the bottles and then at him. “I'm fine, thanks.” And then I felt even more self-conscious. How could he tell I was in pain?
I went back to my meal, ignoring his orders. I didn't need to take anything.
“Francesca,” he said a minute later.
I turned my head to him as I chewed. “What?”
He shut his eyes in what looked like frustration and took a deep breath.
When he opened them, he said, “Take a pill.
It'll make you feel better.” He dropped his fork on the plate and picked up one of the bottles.
He opened it and spilled out two pills into his palm. Then he held them out to me. “Here.”
I frowned at his offering and continued eating. “I said I'm fine.” Gosh, this guy was even bossier than I remembered. Good grief.
“Why are you being so stubborn? I know you're hurting.”
I shot a quick glance at him. “Why are you being so stubborn?”
He grabbed my hand and opened it, depositing the pills inside. “Take the fucking pills, Francesca. Now.”
Without a word, I immediately tossed the pills onto his plate. The look of shock on his face almost made me laugh. Thank goodness I was able to hold it in.
“When you're no longer in pain,” Stefan said with a slow, steady, obviously ticked off tone. “We'll have to work on your manners, Mrs. Sovrano.”
That actually made me giggle. I nodded. “Ditto, Mr. Sovrano.” I glared at him and then rolled my eyes. Just then, there was a knocking sound coming from somewhere.
“Oh, good. She's here,” he said and pushed his chair back. He stood and pulled my chair back. Then he grasped my hand and pulled me up.
I dropped my fork on the table and said, “What the heck are you doing?”
He didn't answer me, of course. Instead, he just pulled me along behind him while we walked a mile to the front door. Or at least it felt like a mile. When we finally got there, he pulled the door open. “Dr. Vitale. Come in.”